


Poetic Beauty

by Mansaeboysbe



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Android AU, F/M, Fluff, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 06:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mansaeboysbe/pseuds/Mansaeboysbe
Summary: Another moment passed and his eyes flitted around the room as if looking for inspiration. He found none. He had no reason for it. But still he persisted and wrote until he thought every word in his dictionary had filled the pages beneath his fingertips.





	Poetic Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> request: Can I request a birthday scenario for Jaehyun that’s based off of his, “Poetic Beauty” project?? -anon
> 
> -Admin Mari

As he lifted his pencil from his paper to think, he stared blankly ahead at the open windows showcasing a warm, spring day outside. He could see the trees with flowers just beginning to bud and the sun hanging high in the sky. A little creek ran along off to the side and he wondered for a moment where it went as if the water had a destination rather than that just running its course.

He blinked and lowered his eyes back to the papers covered in eraser shavings and words that didn’t fit into their sentences like he expected them to. He thought, for a second, that maybe he should be more upset or frustrated but he felt neither and carried on writing with a steady hand.

His fingers were decorated with thin bands of silver and gold he had gotten as gifts and he kept them there every waking moment because the weight had become a part of a normalcy he craved. His hair was tousled slightly as if he had been running his hands through the brown locks. He hadn’t. It was just a part of the look he wore at all times as he tried to fill his days with something new.

Another moment passed and his eyes flitted around the room as if looking for inspiration. He found none. He had no reason for it.

But still, he persisted and wrote until he thought every word in his dictionary had filled the pages beneath his fingertips.

Line by line he transferred poetry from the scarlet book to his own sheets, as if that would make them his own. Like it would allow him to feel it and understand it better. He found himself shifting often, attempting again and again to find a position that would angle his pencil correctly and allow his joints to relax from the stress of gravity.

A gentle smile curved his lips upward and he had the sudden urge to laugh. There wasn’t anything particularly funny about the situation but it was like the warmth of the moment was propelling him to spill some form of happiness past his lips.

He was ready.

\- - -

He paced around, words spilling out of his mouth in a waterfall of similes and metaphors he didn’t know how to convey. He covered the floor in invisible tracks, shuffling sentences in his mind until his tongue could barely keep up.

Again and again, he recited poems from the book in his hands, waiting to become comfortable or numb with the language he was speaking.

He turned suddenly, shutting the windows closed with a clatter and although he knew he should have held some remorse in case he had disturbed someone, he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

He crashed onto the sofa to his right and lifted the book to eye level, murmuring the words once more.

For hours he recited the poem. Over and over until repetition was just a constant rather than an annoyance, as it probably should have been. There were a lot of things that should have been.

He pushed all distractions from his mind and focused intently on voice and emotion as the memorization had long since been finished. The book was held tight between his fingers as an anchor that grounded him. He could have put it down at any time and he still would have known those words better than he knew his name, but it felt like he would be letting go of something else altogether.

Eventually, he stood from his position on the couch and set his safeguard down on the armrest before returning to his pacing once more. Through the shifting shadows, he walked in circles, lifting the tone of his voice and dropping it to test the flow of the poem. His feet scuffed the floor and his shirt became untucked from how he subconsciously messed with it.

In the end, he found a style he liked, letting his fingers ghost over the tattered leather binding of the book, smiling at the memories that surrounded it like an aura. He waited patiently.

\- - -

He changed into his finest clothes long before the time he decided he would leave. He had everything mapped out in his head: he would knock, wait until she was fully revealed behind the door and then he would… he would…

His fingers clenched as he let out a breath, trying to remember everything at once. He sat down abruptly and stared at the wall across from him blankly. Jaw shifting from side to side as he twiddled his thumbs idly, replaying the poem in his head over and over again until his leg began bouncing uncontrollably with nerves.

Maybe this wasn’t the right time, he thought. Maybe it would never be the right time.

The clock struck six and he cast a glance toward the door, knowing he would have to leave now.

He lifted himself up gently, taking his time to move to the hallway. It was empty as always and he placed one foot in front of the other until he reached her door around the corner.

His knock was gentle and he questioned whether she would be able to hear it or not.

But she opened the door a moment later and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Do you need something, Jaehyun?”

He smiled at her. She seemed taken aback at the motion and he took a step back instinctively, not wanting to upset her.

“I learned a new poem.”

“Oh, that’s nice, Jaehyun.”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“This isn’t a good time.”

He stayed still, waiting for her to continue but she simply stared at him with an expression he couldn’t discern. For a moment more she watched him and then she began to close the door.

Sticking his hand out, he held it open and she gaped at him.

“(Y/n),” he paused, thinking over his next question, “Why don’t you come visit me anymore?”

Her expression turned melancholy and almost regretful as she shook her head.

“It has nothing to do with you, Jaehyun. It’s- it’s everything else.”

“I can make you happy if that’s what you mean.”

“I know you can. It’s just-”

“Is it because I’m not as advanced?” She bit her lip worryingly.

“No, I have other projects I have to work on. I don’t have the time right now to-”

“Is it because I remind you of him?” He knew by the way she seemed to shut him out at that moment that he was correct in his assumption. “You built me like this.”

She didn’t say anything else but by the time tears welled in her eyes, he had already backed off, allowing her to shut the door without another word.

He stepped back, waiting for a second to see if maybe she would open it back up. She didn’t.

He dragged his feet back to his room, pausing as he turned the corner for just one more glimpse of the place where she was. He ingrained it into his memory, wanting it to last forever since it was all he had right now.

\- - -

Again and again and again he pushed to memorize, to write, to perfect his words. One of these times she would accept him back into her life. One of these time she would open her arms just after her door. One of these times she would need him like he needed her.

If he could feel desperation, he was sure it would have consumed him by now. But instead, he was cursed to stay emotionally stunted. He would only ever be able to read the expressions of others but never truly understand them. Left to this guessing game of emotional turmoil because he couldn’t tell the difference between okay and “okay.”

In his mind he could see the cruelty of the world like numbers: he wanted to be able to feel something and she didn’t want to feel anything at all.

Cruelty is never being able to experience the feeling of longing and hope and affection and yet knowing that you love someone so inexplicably deeply that it’s no longer a feeling but a fact. And that was something he could understand yet he couldn’t convey.

Nothing in his movements, in his vernacular, in his eyes could express that emotion to her.

And yet he pushed forward, pacing the room like a caged animal wondering how he could change her perspective like she had to his. He continued to go through the poems she had poured over with him. He spent hours mimicking the way she would wander around the room as imagery spilled past her lips. He tried so hard to be something he couldn’t.

He stopped abruptly, looking out the window to the wall where that warm, spring day was painted on the wall behind it, willing it to give him some of those feelings that were plastered in something that wasn’t even animated. He gripped the book in his hands and looked down at it briefly, opening the front cover. Tracing the words written inside with his fingertips that he’d worn down from the many times he’d touched them, he murmured along. They were not words meant for him, but their meaning still held.

“It will be alright. Please try again.”


End file.
